Changes In Style
by Stackwood4
Summary: A drabble set roughly a year after the end of the series. Goliath spoilers ahead!


**This is just a drabble on how Deryn will have to adapt as the "world catches up with her." Super fluff! (Well, kinda.)**

"No. You can still see."

"Barking spiders! How tight will I have to wind this? I can barely breathe as it is!"

Alek squinted, his head tilting to one side. "It's a little flatter from this angle…but still rather obvious."

Deryn snorted. "Of course they are, to _you_. You know what to look for, aye?"

He balked at that. "I-I suppose," he says, coloring.

Deryn rolled her eyes. Even after nearly a year in Darwinist Britain, Alek was still skittish about basic biology. Barking Clanker.

He cleared his throat awkwardly. "I would try to wrap the bandage a bit tighter, if it were me."

Deryn sighed and went back into the closet. It just wasn't _fair_. For nearly a year, the Dylan disguise had worked as well in the London Zoological Society as it had on the Leviathan, enough to fool all the sneaky-beak boffins. Then her body had gone and completely barking betrayed her. During the past few months, the bindings on her chest had gotten tighter and tighter, until they were hardly an escape from corsets anymore.

Already, Dr. Barlow was talking about shopping for blistering _dresses._

"Maybe you could use a different way of disguising yourself," Alek called, his voice muffled through the closet door. "A heavy coat, perhaps?"

"In the middle of summer? I'd swelter!" She stepped from the closet, turning to the side. "All right, how about now?"

Alek stood from the bed and walked around her, studying every angle.

As he looked her over, Deryn felt the familiar electricity crackle over her skin, as if someone has attached tiny electrikals to her fingers and toes, coursing lightning through her body.

In the past year, he'd grown a bit. He was almost her height now, and any baby fat he'd had left was gone, leaving his features sharper and more handsome than ever. And she'd noticed while kissing, a few weeks ago, the new hairs on his upper lip.

He reached out and turned her slightly, the contact burning white-hot through her shirt.

It would be barking nice, if she could only take this bandage off and catch her breath.

Finally, he stood back, shaking his head. "I'm sorry, but it's no use. I think the days of Dylan Sharp are over."

"_Mr._ Sharp. No use." Bovril burrowed out from the nest it had made in the bed sheets, hopping to the floor with a heavy thump. The landlady had taken to feeding it tidbits, and by now the creature had grown nearly as fat as Deryn's auntie's old cat.

Deryn scowled. "Aye, and at the rate you're going, beastie, your shoulder-riding days will soon be over too!" She slumped her shoulders, as if that last remark had taken all her energy. "It really isn't any use, is it?" she said softly.

"You knew that this was going to happen eventually," Alek said, bending to scoop Bovril (with some difficulty) off his feet and into his arms.

"But what am I going to _do_, Alek? Everyone in the Society already knows me as Dylan, and no amount of skirts and makeup is going to fool that pack of clever-boots for a moment!"

"Maybe they won't _have_ to be fooled, Deryn. The people in the Society are our allies. We can trust them to keep your secret."

"Tell that to Dr. Barlow," Deryn grumbled. Like herself, the lady boffin doesn't like sharing secrets if she can help it. How could she be sure that every boffin in the Society was trustworthy?

"I'm sure that Dr. Barlow will think of something," said Alek soothingly. He deposited the loris on the bed and stepped toward her, intertwining the fingers of one hand in hers.

"And really," he whispered into her ear, "Who says that dresses are all bad?"

She swallowed, grasping his other hand. "You've never even seen me in one, _Dummkopf_."

"Indeed." He leaned in to kiss her, softly, on the cheek. "But somehow I don't think it will be nearly as unpleasant as you describe it."

She wanted to shoot back a retort, point out that dresses were barking fine when it wasn't _you_ who was wearing them. But then she saw the way that he's looking at her, and decided to keep her trap shut.

Moments like these were too nice to spoil.

"Aye, perhaps," she replied, matching his gaze. "And you know, I've heard that in America, there are some women who don't wear corsets at all…"


End file.
